


With The Click Of A Button

by justmattycakes



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), F/M, Fluff and Angst, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, MJ and her boys, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Mutual Pining, Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones are step-siblings, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Peter Parker is a Mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28293075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justmattycakes/pseuds/justmattycakes
Summary: With Midtown High's Winter Formal fast approaching, MJ and Peter both need a date. It's a good thing they've each got a plan - at least until Peter accidentally comments on MJ's Instagram as Spider-Man!Will Peter have the courage to ask MJ out? Will MJ learn how to handle the media? And how will Ned keep everyone's secrets?Fic picks up in December of their senior year, without the Far From Home Euro trip, enjoy!
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 78
Kudos: 91
Collections: Spideychelle Secret Santa - 2k20





	1. Take Your Shot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mjonesing (klassmartin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klassmartin/gifts).



> Em - I love your idea of Ned & MJ as step-siblings and couldn't wait to work it out! Once I thought of Peter being an idiot with social media and forgetting to switch between his SM & personal accounts, I knew it would all come together. I was so excited when I got you for SS and I can't wait to keep building out this little world, I hope you enjoy!

Michelle

Michelle tilted her desk lamp to better inspect her work, adjusting her hand to avoid smudging her sketch. It was getting there, but she wasn't happy with the set of the shoulders. Something about the angle seemed stilted, unnatural.

She sighed, setting the pencil down and leaning away from her desk, rubbing her eyes. She needed a break. Her small space heater rattled away beside her, and Michelle slid her feet underneath, relishing the warmth that blossomed in her toes.

It was midway into December and the forecast snowfall had finally come, blanketing the city in three inches of powdery white that piled on rooftops and against windows, fogging the pane beside Michelle. The pristine landscape was temporary, soon to mix with the city's exhaust and melting slush, but for now it was perfect. Silent.

She reached out and drew a little spider with the tip of her finger against the glass and watched it fade as the fog returned, hoping someone in particular was safe at home tonight and not swinging through the icy air.

Michelle turned from the window and scanned her room for the millionth time, searching for inspiration, but all she felt was out of place, a trespasser in her own home.

Her bedspread was familiar, but the walls were foreign and bare, faded paint outlining where old posters and picture frames had hung when she'd moved in. It had taken her almost a year to have the courage to take them down. Even now, she couldn't bring herself to hang anything of her own or apply a fresh coat of paint.

Another blank canvas to fill, this one holding the ghosts of someone's memories, a reminder that she was occupying a space that belonged to someone else.

Michelle turned back to her sketch, letting her worries fade into the background as she lost herself in the soothing sounds of pencil scratching against paper.

She shaded lightly along the line of the jaw, smoothing the sharp edges into a gradient of light and shadow, methodical until her vision became a reality. She left the figure’s chest blank, the spider symbol's absence as a flimsy attempt at plausible deniability, but she would finish it before the end.

She was _not_ obsessed with Spider-Man — she was just very observant, and she liked to draw people in crisis. So what if it always happened to be him these days? He was just an interesting case study, nothing more.

The lie even sounded hollow in her own head.

Who was she kidding? Her entire notebook was full of sketches of Spider-Man, each detailed down to the webbing, his silhouette striking against the New York skyline.

And it didn’t stop with the notebook either; Michelle posted her drawings online too, hiding behind the veiled anonymity of her username, _secret_spideyfan_. She took pride in her work and the reception that it got online, especially compliments on her realism and anatomical accuracy.

Of course, they didn’t know her secret: that she could draw him so well because she knew what he looked like out of the suit.

Michelle flushed. Not literally _out of the suit,_ per se. She shoved that thought from her mind and brought her attention back to her sketch, adding details to the musculature of his neck.

She sighed, erasing the webbing pattern along his arm, unhappy with the design. The second attempt was better, but she wasn’t satisfied until she’d redrawn it nearly a dozen times. If she was going to share something of herself out there in the public eye, then it had to be perfect and beyond reproach.

It wasn't criticism that she was afraid of; there would always be people who only wanted to tear something down. She wasn’t even that worried about people she knew in real life finding out about her art — except for one person in particular:

Peter Parker.

Michelle shivered, imagining if Peter somehow knew how intently she’d watched him and studied his physique. For research purposes.

As if anyone would believe that excuse.

The truth was that she’d started watching Peter because he was this sweet, nerdy, conscientious boy from Queens, and not because she suspected he was moonlighting as a crime-fighting vigilante.

But the more she watched him, the more sure of her hypothesis she became, and now she was at least sixty-seven percent probability that he was Spider-Man.

There was the obvious evidence, like Spider-Man’s presence on their Washington trip and Peter’s flimsy ‘Stark Internship’ excuses, and plenty of circumstantial evidence too, like his dropped extracurriculars and how often he disappeared without explanation, or the mysterious cuts and bruises that somehow always healed before lunch.

And then there was the time in PE when Peter had actually broken a sweat and lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his face, showing off a miraculous set of six-pack abs. Michelle wouldn’t have believed it except Susan Yang saw it too, her face going scarlet before she’d asked Michelle if Peter was some type of escort or model.

Michelle knew how she could confirm her suspicions. All she had to do was corner Ned and interrogate him, and he'd crack like an egg — but that was cheating, and Michelle knew she could prove Spider-Man’s identity on her own, _without_ resorting to intimidation.

Besides, Ned would blame himself for revealing Peter’s secret, and he didn't deserve that kind of guilt. He was a good and loyal friend, and she understood that now more than ever.

After the Snap, Michelle’s mom and Ned’s dad had survived, finding closure — and each other — in the grief counseling sessions for the parents of snapped Midtown students that followed. When she’d blipped back five years later, Michelle found that her family had doubled to four, and for the first time in her life, she had a brother.

Michelle tried to protect Ned and be there for him in his grief, even when his dad wasn't sure how to, unable to bridge the gap of time. As a Blip kid, she understood what it was like coming back to a world altogether different, and they found their way through it together.

She hoped that it was enough for Ned, but she knew she could never replace everything that he’d lost.

There was a knock at her door and Michelle froze, her eyes jumping to the sketches of Spider-Man spread across her desk.

 _Shit_.

“Hey MJ, mind if I come in? I thought we could work on our lists together,” Ned called from the other side of the door.

"One second!" she called, hurriedly gathering her art materials together.

Ned had first mentioned the idea of the list on the subway home from school: a highschool bucket list with all the things they'd never had the courage to do. That way, he'd reasoned, they wouldn't graduate and become losers all over again in college.

Michelle shoved her drawings back into the notebook, cringing a little when she noticed a creased corner sticking out the side. She pushed everything under her bed and out of sight. It would have to do.

"Okay, come in," she said, sitting at her desk and pretending to check her phone.

Ned came in and plopped onto her bed, setting up his laptop. She watched his feet to make sure they didn't stray toward her pillows, but he knew better by now and kept well clear.

“I've already got your list started here — Project Social Makeover.”

"Please don't call it that," Michelle said, feeling the heat rise in her face.

"It's a working title," Ned explained, tapping away at the keys. "I’ve been brainstorming some ideas and I think this one is a great first step.” He pulled out his phone for a moment, eyes scanning the screen. “There, I just sent it to you.”

Michelle frowned when she looked down at her phone. "A selfie challenge? And this will help me, how?"

“You said you wanted to get out there more before heading to college, right? This is an easy one! And body positivity is a good cause,” Ned continued. “What would Liz do, remember? She was all over these campaigns! This could be your Miss Congeniality moment.”

“Leeds…” she warned. She should never have brought up Liz, it was all too close to the truth about how she felt about Peter.

“Come on, MJ, do it in solidarity with me. I’ll do all the hashtags for you, and you don’t even have to smile.”

“Fine, I'll do it,” Michelle said, feeling her face flush.

“Trust me, you won’t regret it,” Ned assured her, and she had to admit that his enthusiasm was infectious. “We'll take the photos tonight. How about you? Thought of anything for the list?”

“I want to go to winter formal, with P… uh, with a date,” Michelle said, heart racing in her chest. She felt a surge of adrenaline at realizing that Peter’s name had been on the tip of her tongue. Had she really almost said it aloud?

Ned added the item to Michelle's list, thankfully unaware of her quiet catastrophe. She trusted Ned, but he didn’t have the best track record with keeping secrets.

“I should add winter formal to my list, too,” Ned said, looking up. “Who do you think I should ask?”

Michelle shrugged, “Maybe Betty?”

She and Betty had become much closer ever since the Blip — most of the Blip kids had. Maybe they could all go together, if she ever got the courage to ask Peter. Hell, she'd already bought a pair of tickets to force herself to do it. “I could talk to her for you.”

“Come on, I'm being serious. Betty is _definitely_ too popular for me. Haven't you seen her on morning announcements? She's super cool and basically a professional. I doubt she’d care about the stuff I’m into, like _Beast Wars_. I'm not even in the same league as her.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my brother like that,” Michelle said, “you're one of the coolest guys I know. I'll talk to Betty, and I'll be very discrete,” she assured him, winking.

“Okay, but like, don’t tell her I’m asking or anything,” Ned said, ducking behind his computer screen to hide his blush. “What else do you want to put on the list?”

“Well, I hope my early application to Yale goes through. I've signed up for all of my AP tests and SAT II's, and I think I can get the superlatives for English and History this year if I…”

“Those are all boring, academic goals, MJ! We both know you’re going to get accepted everywhere you apply,” Ned said, waving the idea away, like it was a done deal and not what Michelle had spent her entire year stressing about.

"I’m talking about _social_ goals, MJ," Ned admonished, "like going to parties and meeting new people. Come on, you can think of something else.”

Michelle hummed, pretending to consider the question as she inspected her nails. There was one other goal that she chose not to mention: telling Peter how she felt about him and then kissing him at winter formal.

It was the whole reason that she’d agreed to do this list in the first place, and why she’d purchased two winter formal tickets before even talking to Peter or asking him out.

It was also why the phrase ‘what would Liz do’ had become her silent mantra, her guiding star to get what Liz had for a moment but lost.

Michelle could already envision it — his hands at her hips and her arms wrapped around his neck, swaying in time to some sappy song dripping minor key melancholy, his eyes locked on her and only her. The song would build to a crescendo and he would hold her close, their lips pressing together in quiet exaltation.

And he wouldn't run off to the save the day this time, she fantasized. He'd stay with her, _for_ her. And then he'd share his secret.

But Michelle still hadn’t made her move, and she was worried that if she let the rest of the year pass, she and Peter would go their separate ways for college and slowly drift apart. The thought of it nearly broke her heart.

“I’ve never had alcohol before,” Ned said, shaking Michelle from her reverie. “We can add getting drunk to our lists. I want to know what I’m getting into so I don't embarrass myself in college.”

Michelle shrugged, feeling her shoulders rise toward her ears, “I’ll skip that one. My dad was an alcoholic before he left.”

She didn't mention that he'd left before she was born, the promise of sobriety on his lips as he snatched the car keys and drove out of the city, never to be seen again.

“No alcohol,” Ned said, glancing at her briefly as he rapidly tapped the backspace key. He didn’t push to know more, and she didn’t offer it. “What about weed? I haven't tried that either.”

“Where would we even get it? Is anyone we know a dealer? Or do people buy it on the darknet now?”

"I bet Flash knows where to get some, he's way more chill than he used to be…" Ned began, sitting upright mid-sentence. He swung his legs off the bed and knelt on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Michelle asked, trying to keep the nervousness from her voice as he picked up her drawing notebook, but he set it aside without a second thought, leaning further under the bed.

"One of these tiles is broken. If you slide it back just right, it should… there!"

He pulled a little drawstring bag out from under the floorboards and spread its contents out on the bed. There was a lighter, a small glass pipe, and a Ziploc baggie of what Michelle assumed was weed.

"Was that... your brother's?"

"Yeah, I wasn't sure if it would still be here, but I guess I was the only one who knew about it. Do you think it's still good? Can weed go bad? It's at least six years old."

"It looks pretty dry. Or maybe that's normal?"

Ned only shrugged, “It's probably fine, it's just a plant. That's what Alex used to say whenever mom would catch him smoking. Sometimes he climbed out on the flat part of the roof from the attic so my parents couldn't smell it.”

He was quiet for a moment, turning the lighter in his hands. Michelle wanted to reach out, but she hesitated, knowing that sometimes Ned just needed the time and space to talk, and she didn't want to interrupt.

But the moment passed, and Ned gathered his brother's old things, hesitating before sliding the bag into his pocket. "I'm getting a little sleepy, how about we do the selfie and head to bed? It will only take a minute," he added as Michelle made a face.

“Can we do it another night? I think I want to go to sleep too.”

“Come on, MJ, it'll be quick. I know you'll be up reading until two in the morning, anyway.”

“Fine,” she growled, pulling up her phone. She took a few shots, her smile feeling plastic until Ned jumped in, directing her this way and that with his terrible impression of a fashion photographer, and then she couldn't stop smiling.

Finally, Ned declared that they had enough shots and took her phone to inspect.

“The last one is the best, but I just want to make sure…” he said, flipping back toward the first shots. But he swiped one image too far, bringing up a photo of Michelle’s latest Spider-Man sketch that she was preparing to upload.

“That’s um… that’s…” she began, snatching the phone from his hand. She could feel her heart hammering away in her chest and a lump forming in her throat that made it difficult to breathe. “Just a sketch, for, um…”

“It’s really good,” Ned said, unable to make eye contact. “I, uh, I didn’t know you did Spider-Man art. And it’s way better than just a sketch, the colors are perfect. I mean, I think they are, from like, Spider-Man photos I’ve seen. On the internet.”

Michelle nodded but didn't look up, navigating to her Instagram account and choosing the final selfie. She shoved the phone back into Ned’s hands without looking at his face. “Here, you can do all the hashtags or whatever.”

He didn’t say anything as he typed up the message, making quick glances at Michelle as he went. “There, that sounds pretty good. Want to read it over first?”

“Just post it,” she said, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. It wasn’t like she had that many followers anyway, only Ned and a few other students would see it. Maybe Peter.

Would he see the selfie and say something about it to her? Would he like it? Would that mean anything?

“Here you go,” Ned said cheerfully, “I think it looks great. Don't forget to like mine, too.”

“Thanks, Leeds,” Michelle said, taking her phone back. “Could you maybe not tell anyone about my drawing? I don’t feel ready to share it yet.”

At least not with anyone she knew, in particular a specific spandex-clad web-slinger.

"Of course," said Ned, "that's what family is for."

* * *

Peter

Peter sent out another webline, not even bothering to watch as it caught the corner of a building, propelling him through his pendulum and back into the air. The nights were getting colder, with icy gales whipping over the rooftops, but Peter didn’t feel it inside his suit, the tech that Stark had developed converting his kinetic energy into heat as needed.

“What do you think, Karen, is it time to head home? The city seems quiet tonight.”

“I think you’ve earned a few early nights,” Karen said, her voice chiming in cheerfully.

Ever since the Blip, Peter had patrolled with Karen more and more. Partially because Ned was no longer a reliable option — it would be too easy for MJ to figure out his secret if they had nightly patrol calls, as Ned pointed out several times — but also partially as a lingering reminder of the man who’d built his suit.

Peter gave Manhattan one last look before he turned back toward midtown, swinging along Park through a city blanketed in white until he reached the Queensboro Bridge to make his way back home. He caught up with a 7 train barreling down the tracks and landed on top, relaxing as it took him deeper into the borough.

“Did you remember to buy tickets to winter formal, Peter? There was an email from Midtown last week that announced they were going on sale.”

Peter sighed, knowing where this was going. “Not yet, I still need to ask MJ to go with me. I don’t want to buy them first, she’ll think I’m being presumptuous or something.”

“I’m sure she won’t think that, Peter. If you’re worried, I could analyze her heartbeat the next time you speak to her to determine if it is elevated above her normal conversational baseline.”

“That’s… kind of creepy, Karen. Wouldn’t you need to have monitored it ahead of time to develop a baseline?”

There was a pause on the other end, which Peter knew was intentional since Karen had already formulated her response instantly. “Yes, hypothetically I would. However, I’ve already established baseline biometrics for a number of your friends and frequent acquaintances. As a precaution.”

“When were you doing that?” he asked, sending out another webline to snag the overpass near his stop. He hopped off the train, sweeping just above traffic as he turned for home.

“I’m constantly gathering and analyzing data. Mr. Stark imbued me with a deep reserve of processing power and emotional analytics. It’s what I was built for, Peter.”

“Jeez, remind me never to get on your bad side,” he said, though a small and guilty part of him wanted to take her up on her offer. Actually… “Karen, how accurate would you say your analysis is? Hypothetically?”

“One moment, Peter. Michelle posted a selfie to her Instagram account. Would you like to see it on your heads up display?”

“Yes, please!”

MJ taking a selfie? That was out of the ordinary. Did it mean something? It looked like it was for that body positivity campaign that Ned had been talking about.

And she looked good, like _really_ good.

“I’ve noticed a significant increase in your heart rate and pupil dilation,” Karen said, her voice jarring him back into the present.

Peter hurriedly shifted his weight to the side, skimming the corner of a building that he’d been too distracted to notice. He barely cleared a rooftop billboard and skidded to a halt. “You did that on purpose!”

“Of course I did, Peter. And I believe I’ve proven my point — my measurements are exceptionally accurate.”

“Fine, but I don’t want you scanning people anymore, it makes me feel uncomfortable. MJ definitely wouldn’t like that.”

“Of course, Peter, I’ll cancel all future acquaintance diagnostics.”

“Good,” he huffed, rubbing the slight tenderness in his side. At least he hadn’t hit the building head on this time.

Peter sat down at the roof's edge and let his legs dangle over the side. The sun had set hours ago, all the oranges and reds and fading blues blending into the night sky as it sank below the horizon, giving way to cloudy skies and snow. Then the lights of the city came alive, repainting the landscape into pools and rivers of light, transformed into a world of shadows and shimmering brightness, reflected off the ice.

He wished he could bring MJ with him and show her the city the way that he saw it, bathed in that golden glow and far away from the honking horns and rancid sewer grates, or shining in the dark, like it did tonight.

Speaking of MJ…

“Hey, Karen? Can you, um… bring up Michelle’s selfie on my screen again?”

“Of course, Peter.”

He was almost certain he could detect a hint of amusement in Karen’s voice, if that was even possible for an AI. Whatever. Better to focus on MJ’s photo, anyway.

“It’s a lovely photograph,” Karen supplied, and Peter had to agree. MJ looked carefree and confident, a lazy grin spreading across her face like she'd just been laughing.

It was strange, seeing her more often and in her own personal space. Spending time in her room felt intimate; MJ sitting on her bed, barefoot, her nose in a good book as Ned rattled off a new strategy that he’d devised for their PVP matches in _Beast Wars_. She rarely said much, preferring to rag on Ned and him with her hard-hitting one-liners, but she hung out with them all the same.

Sometimes, Peter would turn and find her watching him, or laughing at a joke he'd just made, the sound filling his heart to bursting. And there were rare moments where they were alone, his breathing hitched while her eyes lingered on his, and he would hesitate, an opportunity lost. A chance not taken.

“Are you going to post a comment?” Karen asked. “Michelle doesn’t post many images of herself, she will probably appreciate the encouragement.”

“Good idea, maybe I can be the first one to…” Peter began, making a frustrated noise as he saw Flash’s message pop up first.

_@spideyno1fan_: Woah, look who’s posting selfies now. But too little too late, I’ve already got a date to Winter Formal!_

Winter formal — Peter sighed. He needed to hurry up and ask MJ before someone else did.

He’d thought about it all semester, knowing it was coming, but somehow he always found excuses to push off asking. It was too early, or it wasn’t the right time, or he wanted to do it in a special way. Now it was already midway into December and he was having trouble getting her alone to ask her — and having trouble finding the courage.

He wished that he could talk to Ned about it, but now that Ned and MJ were siblings, he didn’t want to put his friend in that position, especially since Ned didn’t get to be his guy in the chair that much anymore. With MJ across the hall, it was too much of a risk that she would discover his secret.

Ned had a simple solution to that problem, or so he claimed: Peter should tell MJ about Spider-Man.

“She’s super cool, and she never tells anyone’s secrets. She keeps secrets just for fun, Peter. We _need_ someone like that,” Ned had insisted for the hundredth time. “And if you don’t tell her, she’s just going figure it out, dude. We’re already living on borrowed time, you’ve got no idea what it’s like living with someone with that kind of power. What are you afraid of?”

_What was he afraid of?_

He told himself that it was dangerous, that his secret might come out, that the timing was all wrong, but he also knew how flimsy those were. After all, May and Ned knew because of his mistakes, not someone else’s.

“What do you think, Karen — should I tell MJ that I’m Spider-Man?” Peter asked, watching the silent snowfall drift on the breeze.

“Mr. Stark always surrounded himself with a strong support group, namely Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan, and Colonel James Rhodes. He also had the other Avengers that he could rely on. Privately, he maintained that they often talked him out of his worst decisions, or gave him the strength to complete his missions.

“Based on my observations,” Karen continued, “Michelle values your friendship highly and has displayed many reliable and trustworthy qualities, including discretion. Among your regular acquaintances, she presents the lowest perceived risk of compromising your identity, including Ned Leeds and May Parker.”

“Who’s the highest risk?”

“Eugene Thompson, by an entire order of magnitude.”

“That sounds about right,” Peter laughed.

“Why don’t you want to tell her, Peter?”

“I don’t know, I think I’m just worried about how it will change things,” Peter said, but the little voice inside him said that was a lie, too. If he told MJ now, told her before he asked her out, he’d never know if she liked him for Peter, or if it was just for Spider-Man.

He unlocked his phone, seeing the image of MJ across her screen, the text cursor blinking in the open comment box. Peter closed the app and slid his phone back into the inner pocket of his suit, wiping away a fresh batch of snow from the ledge before leaping into the night air headed for home. May would know what to say.

“I just miss how it used to be,” he said, rounding the corner and banking off a nearby apartment complex. “Just me and Ned, patrolling the city after school.”

“There can’t be progress without change, Peter,” Karen said. “If you want to be with Michelle romantically, you have to be willing for your relationship to change.”

“So, what? Change is inevitable and I should just accept it and tell her everything? Swing by her room as Spider-Man and ask her to winter formal right now?”

“If that’s what you think is best, Peter. But how about you start with a comment on her photo?”

Thirty minutes later, Peter was still angrily staring at the text cursor, every blink a reminder of his failure and the two dozen comments he'd written and immediately deleted.

Why was it so hard to just come up with something to say? First, he thought he should play it safe, but not so safe that she thought he wasn't interested, but also not _so_ interested that it was creepy.

And should he really be commenting on her appearance for a body positivity campaign? Or maybe that was the point?

Peter switched over to his Spider-Man account and scrolled through his notifications. He just needed a few moments away and some positive reinforcement.

As loud as some of Spider-Man's haters could be, there was always a surge of support for what he did, and he received messages constantly. He loved that about New York — it may be ground zero for super activity in the US, but the city looked out for its own. Well, most of the time.

MJ's name came up on his list of notifications as he scrolled, and he tapped her name, bringing him back to her page and the new selfie.

The little heart icon was blank, and Peter stared at it for a moment. Hadn't he already liked it? Or maybe he'd just been too distracted? He double tapped it, navigating down to the comment box.

It was now or never, he just needed to say how he felt, just something nice, something simple.

 _Amazing photo, you look great! And for a good cause, too!_ 😍

Peter sent the comment before he could think more about it and set his phone aside, feeling a little rush at using a heart eyes emoji. Tomorrow, he'd talk to her alone and ask her to winter formal. He could do this. All he had to do was have hope.

* * *

The next morning, Peter jerked awake at his alarm. His dream — something about being on the run — was already fading as he reached for his phone, leaving only a vague sense of unease in its wake.

There were plenty of new Spider-Man messages and notifications, but he had just posted that story of himself swinging over a snow-capped New York, so that wasn't surprising.

There were also seven new texts from Flash — _weird_ — but Peter swiped those away. He wasn't ready to deal with whatever had Flash in a frenzy.

Most concerning, Peter also had three new voicemails from Ned and a single text in all caps, 'CALL ME', time-stamped at 3:15 AM.

Peter tapped Ned's name and called him, stretching as he listened to the line ring on the other end. _It's pizza day_ , he remembered with a surge of joy, and then Ned picked up on the other end.

_"Peter? Where the hell have you been?"_

"Good morning to you, too, Ned. What's going on? I haven't listened to your voicemails yet."

 _"You don't know…"_ he said, sounding incredulous. _"Dude, you commented on MJ's selfie last night, she's going to freak out when she sees it!"_

Peter shifted uncomfortably in bed, his stomach feeling queasy. "Why? Is it so weird that I..."

 _"Peter!"_ Ned hissed, his mouth sounding close to the phone. _"You didn't comment as yourself, you commented as Spider-Man! Everyone's losing it. Reporters started lining up in front of our house an hour ago, probably waiting for MJ and…"_

But Peter didn't hear the rest, too busy pulling up MJ's photo and confirming it for himself. Her selfie was already over thirty thousand likes, and it wasn't even eight in the morning.

And there, right in front of him and plain as day, was his comment from — Spider-Man's account.

_Shit._


	2. The Fallout

Michelle

Michelle woke up begrudgingly, the incessant buzzing from her phone droning away even after she swiped her alarm off and dropped it on the floor, missing the nightstand. She buried her face in her pillows and groaned as she fished for it between her mattress and the wall, eventually pulling it out and switching it to silent mode, ignoring whatever notifications kept prompting her every two seconds. Freaking automatic updates.

She yawned and stretched, sliding her toes into fluffy slippers and wrapping herself in a thick bathrobe. The smell of coffee wafted from downstairs and she trudged slowly toward it, craving a jolt of caffeine to banish the foggy exhaustion from her brain.

As she passed Ned’s room, she could hear frantic conversation from the other side of the door, Peter’s name hissed several times as Ned scolded him about something. They were probably arguing over some new video game trailer that just dropped, or maybe the announcement of a new Star Wars sequel. Dorks.

“Are those news reporters out there?” asked Ned’s dad, Denny, as he peeked through the blinds and sipped his coffee, the morning paper rolled up under his arm. “Do you think something happened on the street?”

Michelle offered a non-committal grunt and squinted through the blinds, watching as a few camera crews and reporters milled about on the sidewalk near the front of their house.

"You know, I bet this is about that complaint I lodged. I've been hounding the 311 line to get them to do something about the stop sign blocked by that overgrown tree at our end of the block — you know, the one in front of the Ramirez's house?"

He turned back to look through the blinds again. "Still, this seems like a bigger ruckus than I was hoping to cause. So be it."

"They must know you're big time, Papa Leeds," Michelle said, pouring a coffee for herself.

"Glad the word is finally getting out," he said, winking at Michelle. "Hey — one of them is coming."

The doorbell rang, and Michelle heard Ned's door slam upstairs. Someone was grumpy today.

"I'll get it," Michelle said, setting her coffee down and padding toward the front door, but Ned came sprinting down the stairs at full tilt, pushing the door closed just as Michelle had turned the handle.

"Dude, what's going on…”

"What are you doing?! Do NOT open that door!" Ned pleaded, his eyes wide with panic. "Have you checked your phone yet? Do you… do you _know_ what's going on?"

"Are you sure it's not about the stop sign?" Michelle joked.

Ned looked at her with something like pity and handed her his phone, the image of her selfie on the screen.

"Thirty-thou…" Michelle began, her voice catching in her throat. How could _thirty-thousand_ people have liked her photo? It made no sense — it had to be some sort of glitch, or accident, it couldn't possibly…

And then she saw it.

Spider-Man had commented on her post.

Spider-Man had flirted with her, in full view of the internet, and on _her_ post. With emojis.

"Ned — did you post it publicly?"

"Well, yeah, how else could the campaign see the photo? I didn't think this would happen!"

"Fuck!" Michelle said, not at Ned so much as at the world, and maybe a little bit at Spider-Man.

"Language, young lady," said Mr. Leeds, now looking at Ned's phone and adjusting his reading glasses. "Looks like you're famous now, even the wallcrawler is jumping in. I hope that doesn't mean we need to put bars on the window."

"Oh my god, dad," groaned Ned, cradling his head in his hands, "why are you like this?"

Michelle rushed upstairs, leaving her coffee behind. She was too jittery for caffeine now anyway, and she doubted she could even hold the mug in her shaking hands.

She wasted no time in finding her phone and pulling up the selfie, stunned for a moment at the number of messages and comments that filled her notifications in ever-cascading pings.

It was overwhelming, all this attention and scrutiny. She was used to blending in and being part of the crowd, or ducking her head as she kept to the outer edges.

Out of reach.

What she needed was distance. The selfie was the root of the problem, the offending article; it all hinged on this picture. If there was no more picture, all the noise surrounding it would disappear, right? Eventually?

She took a deep breath, finger hovering over the 'Delete' button, and allowed herself a moment to relish in the fact that _Spider-Man_ had flirted with her. And then it was gone.

There was a soft knock at her door, and Mr. Leeds opened it just a crack. "Are you alright, Michelle? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made light of the situation like that. If this is stressful, I can call Principal Morita, maybe you can take some time…"

"No!" Michelle blurted, "I'm fine, I can go to school."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she answered, dragging herself up off the bed. As much as she dreaded walking into class, there was one very important reason she wanted to go.

Peter Parker was _finally_ flirting with her.

Well, it was probably him. Actually, did Spider-Man's comment make it more or less likely that it was Peter under the mask? She'd need to examine further, in particular the subject in question. If Peter was behind this, it would be written all over his face the moment she saw him.

She wasn't so naïve as to believe that there wouldn't be fallout from the selfie — the local news crews stationed out front were evidence enough of that. But she couldn't stay here forever, and people at school would get bored with it quickly enough. Best to get it over with, like tearing off a bandaid.

She could do this.

Michelle swiped away the rest of her notifications and finished dressing for school, choosing a comfortable sweater as she prepared herself for what felt like battle.

Downstairs, Denny stood by the front door with Ned, a slight frown on his face as he waited. “That crew outside isn’t going anywhere, but you two can slip out the back and try to get past them. I’ll distract them while you go.”

“Thanks, Papa Leeds,” Michelle said, taking a deep breath and steeling herself.

“Alright, you two ready? Keep those scarves up and your hats down, you’ll be fine.” To Michelle he added, “And if you need me to come get you, if you need anything at all, just call, alright? You’re not alone.”

When they were ready, Michelle and Ned snuck out the back, creeping along the edge of the house until they reached the corner. Once they got through the gate at the edge of the driveway, they’d only be a few feet from the sidewalk — and right in front of the camera crews.

Beside her, Ned pulled the straps on his backpack tight and stretched his legs. “Once dad opens the door, let’s just run for it. There’s a little ice, but I think we’ll be okay. It’s only a few blocks until the subway.”

“I know, I take it every day, too,” Michelle said, but she was thankful for the reassurance all the same.

“Hi there!” called Denny from the front door. He walked slowly down the steps, still in his morning robe. “You folks here about the stop sign? I’ve been calling about it for weeks, happy to answer your questions!”

Michelle took a deep breath and then set off at a jog, slipping a little on the icy sidewalk but staying upright with Ned right behind her. But one of the camera crews must have seen, because there was a shout and the reporters began to pursue.

“Go! Get across the street and we can duck down another block!” Ned shouted, stepping off the ice and onto the asphalt. But he stumbled back into her, and they nearly got hit by a silver Audi as it swerved around the corner.

“Hey, losers!” shouted Flash, rolling down the passenger side window. “Want a lift?”

“Flash? What the hell are you doing here?” asked Michelle, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Saving you idiots from that mob, obviously. Now, come on, I don’t have all day!” he said, slapping the steering wheel.

Ned just shrugged and got in, and with a final look at the camera crews, Michelle hopped into the passenger's side and they were off.

“Put on your seatbelts, I’m not getting a ticket after I just saved your asses,” Flash said, leaning forward to adjust the thermostat.

“Yeah, what’s that about?” Michelle asked, bunching her coat between her legs and buckling in. “Don’t you live in Rye?”

“Why, you stalking me, Jones?” asked Flash.

“Picking us up added like half an hour to your drive — what do you get out of this?”

“More like forty minutes because of this traffic,” Flash corrected, “but who cares about that? Spider-Man commented on your selfie! How are you not freaking out right now?”

“I am freaking out,” Michelle confessed as she settled back into the seat. “But I deleted it, so we can all forget about it.”

“Forget about it?” Flash laughed, “I didn’t even see the comment on your post, I saw a tweet with a screenshot of it — it had over eighty thousand likes when I left this morning. It’s on the internet now, which means it’s out of your control. That’s a lesson the Flash Mob has taught me many times... You just have to learn to live with it.” He didn’t elaborate further.

Michelle wanted to go home and hide, never to be seen again. _Eighty thousand_ people had already seen the photo and Spider-Man’s comment. _At least_ eighty thousand, she corrected. What was she going to do?

“You know what? You should take control of the story,” Flash continued. "No one knows who you are yet. Your IG handle in the screenshot just says ‘MJ’ so all you need is a platform to announce who you are!”

Who she was? As if she knew the answer.

Flash turned to her excitedly, “We can do a quick interview spot on my Instagram, like a teaser. Don’t tell people anything, just show them you exist, then they’ll have to keep coming back to check for updates. More hits, more clicks, more likes and follows… this can be huge for us, MJ.”

“ _Us_? When did you get involved?” Ned asked, leaning forward between their seats.

“When you guys became cool enough to hang out with me — _and_ I saved you from riding the subway with all the gawkers who’d want a picture with Spider-Man’s girlfriend.”

“I’m _not_ his girlfriend!” Michelle hissed, feeling her face flush. Not that she was entirely opposed to the idea, it just wasn't true.

Flash just waved her away. “Man, I can’t wait to see the look on Parker’s face when he finds out! He’s going to freak!”

“He’s definitely already freaking out,” Ned muttered from behind them, his forehead resting against the window as he stared outside, and Michelle thought about the frantic call she’d overheard from Ned’s room.

She turned the sentence over in her mind, examining it, and filed it quietly away for her investigation. For now, she had bigger problems to deal with.

It felt too soon when Flash pulled into Midtown's parking lot, easing the Audi into a spot reserved for visitors. He flipped the mirror down and gave his reflection a critical look before slapping it closed.

"Flawless, as always," Flash said, leaning toward Michelle and lifting his phone for a selfie. "Smile, MJ!"

"Flash," Michelle warned.

"Hey, I'm just stoking the fire a bit. I won't put your name or anything, I'm just adding to the mystery. You can’t give the people what they want just yet, build some anticipation. This is Social Media 101, you guys should take notes."

"How generous," Ned said dryly. "Come on, let's just get to homeroom."

"If you're hanging with Spidey later, tell him about me," Flash said, "and invite him to my party Saturday night!"

“You think Spider-Man would come to _your_ party?” Ned asked, incredulous.

"Why wouldn't he? It's going to be dope — I'm DJing all night, I just got a brand new set of speakers, and my parents are out of town until Monday. Plus, I could personally thank him for saving my life in Washington."

"Sure, I'll let him know to RSVP," Michelle said, climbing out of the car and slinging her backpack over her shoulders. At least Flash was still Flash.

Once inside, Michelle experienced a sense of deja vu, feeling like every dream she'd had when she accidentally went to school naked. Whispers of 'is that her' and 'I thought she'd be prettier' and even 'so that's what Spidey is tapping' followed her down the hall, and she felt like everyone was gravitating toward her, ready to feed like vultures circling a corpse.

Michelle put her head in her locker once it was open, wishing she could shut out the murmur growing around her. Ned leaned against the locker beside her, and one glance at his face told her everything she needed to know.

"Are you doing alright, MJ? Maybe I could cause a distraction, they'll all head to class soon enough."

"No, I can…" Michelle started, but someone behind her had started a slow clap while a couple jerks wolf-whistled, and her courage faltered. She pulled her scarf back up and kept her hood down low, turning head somewhere — anywhere but here.

There were a few camera flashes, and then some asshole chanted 'Spidey', and she couldn't take it anymore. Michelle slammed her locker shut and elbowed her way through the crowd and out the front doors again, throwing up both middle fingers as she went.

She felt a little better when she made it to the train station, taking deep, slow breaths until she could swipe her MetroCard on the turnstile. Then she relaxed once the 4 train arrived, the platform rumbling as the telltale screech of the subway brakes echoed in the station and sent a shiver down her spine.

 _Scarf up and hat low,_ she reminded herself. The train was immediately too hot from the press of bodies, but no one paid her any mind. She was probably too bundled up for anyone to recognize her. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

By the time she transferred to the 7 line at Grand Central, she was beginning to think that she'd gotten away with it and could just finish her uneventful commute home in peace. She would need to text her mom and Denny so they didn't worry, and Ned could get her books and homework for her.

There was a tap at her shoulder, and Michelle turned, pulling her headphones out of her ears.

“Sorry, I really never do this, but are you the woman that the internet says is Spider-Man’s girlfriend?” asked the woman, whispering low.

“We’re not dating…” Michelle started.

“No labels, yeah, I get it. Can you tell him I said thank you? He helped me fish my keys out of a street grate with that web stuff and all I could think of saying was ‘I think your suit is sexy’. It was so embarrassing,” she said, covering her face.

“Oh, I don’t really know him, we only met for a second when he saved my friends,” Michelle said. It wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Oh my god, that is such a meet-cute, I hope you guys get together. Anyway, this is my stop, keep Spidey on read and make him work for it!”

After her strange encounter, Michelle was more alert and aware of the people around her. At first, she could convince herself that the eyes that passed her over were simply the bored gazes of commuters and tourists, but more and more often she caught them watching her, sometimes even whispering to each other or nudging their neighbors to look. By the time the train had pulled into the next station, Michelle felt like the entire subway car somehow knew, their whispers buzzing around her and sending her heart racing.

When the doors opened, Michelle pushed her way through and went straight for the stairs, running down them, faster and faster, until they emptied onto the street. The crosswalk signal was counting down, so she jogged across the street and continued down the sidewalk, letting her momentum take her forward. She didn’t stop until the cold air burned her lungs and she clutched at a stitch in her side, alone and silent but for the city sounds that filtered between the apartment buildings.

Less than a block away, her old apartment building stood, the west tower now covered in construction scaffolding and tarping. The entrance looked new and foreign to her, and she realized someone must have power-washed it at some point, the brickwork no longer discolored by years of city air.

Still, the building was familiar, and no one said anything as she slipped in behind a construction crew, taking the elevator to the top floor. She followed the hallway that led to the roof exit, wedging the door open with the same cinder block she’d used years ago.

It almost felt like another lifetime when she used to come up here, leaning against the low wall as she sketched the city skyline. Michelle had started her Spider-Man sketches up here as well, looking for a way to superimpose him into her life, a blur of blue and red across the canvas. She used to daydream that he would find her rooftop one day, landing softly as she was lost in the task of drawing, her name on his lips as he told her his secret.

She certainly hadn’t imagined this.

Someone had dragged an old couch to the roof, and Michelle pulled her coat tightly about her as she settled into it, finally ready to face the mayhem that were her phone notifications. Most were follow requests and messages from Spider-Man fans, and she took her time making sure every account she had was now private and unsearchable.

Most of her friends had texted or called, each gushing about the comment or demanding the sordid details — except for Peter. He'd sent a few texts, but they were all asking her if she was alright and if she was coming back to school. Not a word about the comment or Spider-Man.

So Michelle had to ask herself: was that simply who Peter was? Or was it because — as she suspected — Peter was Spider-Man?

She turned the problem over in her mind, examining it from every angle, silently running it against all she knew from her investigation. First, she needed to establish the facts as she knew them.

Fact number one: Peter Parker did not flirt. Ever. He'd never even flirted with Liz — Michelle had watched and she was certain of that much — and any time he made a joke that was remotely flirty or raunchy, his ears would turn red and he'd stutter his way through an apology. She revised her expected probability down to sixty-three percent.

Fact number two: Peter Parker was kind and conscientious, he wouldn't put MJ through all of this attention on purpose. Then again, that assumed that he understood the consequences of his actions, which was being a little generous. So she left the probability unchanged.

Fact number three: Peter Parker was kind of a dumbass, in a well-meaning, _aw shucks_ type of way. He was incredibly, freakishly smart, of course, but he was also careless about alibis and constantly late. And sleeping through class. And losing his bag.

Was it plausible that Peter might've commented as Spider-Man on accident? Definitely. It fit with Ned's frantic phone call and muttered hints from that morning. This was exactly the type of problem Peter would get himself into. She adjusted the probability to seventy percent.

Fact number four: Peter Parker was a total dork, the type of dork that would flirt with an emoji and some totally innocuous compliment that he rewrote a dozen times. If she took Spider-Man out of the picture and read the message for what it was, she had to admit it felt like it was from Peter. Maybe even seventy-five percent sure.

But what if she was wrong? What if she wanted to believe it was Peter because it fit the version of him inside her head, and so she was misreading everything?

Who was Spider-Man, if not Peter Parker?

He still fought for justice, for the little guy, for the city. He still risked his life to save people, still willingly charged into harm's way. He'd still saved her friends.

But a stranger under the mask felt different, an imbalance of power. What if it was just some guy in a suit, like one of the other Avengers? Michelle was only seventeen; the whole comment felt creepy in that context, and she frowned. Gross.

Maybe Ned's dad was right about the bars on the window.

Michelle shook her head and opened the app again, wanting to analyze the comment even further, but a new request caught her eye.

"No way…" she muttered to herself as she skimmed the message, reading it over again to make sure she hadn't misunderstood. Then she typed in the number provided and held the phone to her ear.

"Hi, this is Michelle Jones, I just got your message about the City Harvest fundraiser on Sunday night…"

* * *

Peter

By the time that third period was over, Peter had seen a dozen different reposts of his comment across every social media platform, and every time he checked, some new thread or meme had spun off and out of control.

First, there was a Reddit thread where people shared their personal Spider-Man fantasies, including a woman who liked to imagine Spidey watched her ‘solo adventures’ from her fire escape, or how they’d been saved and snuck a quick squeeze — it _did_ happen sometimes.

Then came the 'Spidey Be Creepin' meme, which quickly exploded into variants and tangential references until he had to set his phone down and just _breathe_ before he crushed it in his hand.

And worst of all were the things he heard people say about MJ, the half-whispered jokes in the hallway or shrieks of laughter after snide remarks. It put him on edge, angry, though he had no right to be angry. This was his mess.

Peter slammed his locker a little too hard and felt the metal dent beneath his fingers, the imprints obvious. "Shit," he muttered, pulling it back open and trying to pop the dents back out from the other side.

"Dude, you're a mess right now," said Ned, leaning against the locker beside Peter. "You've got to pull it together."

"You think I don't get that?" Peter snapped.

“Hey, don't get mad at me,” Ned grumbled, “I'm doing my best with your bad situation.”

Ned switched to Peter's other side and leaned in close. "The press were in front of my house, Peter! The questions they're trying to ask MJ are questions that I _know the answers to_. What do I do if they think I'm suspicious? What if I let something slip? You know how I get under pressure!"

"You're right, I'm sorry, I screwed up," Peter said, deflating, "I never meant to drag you into this."

"The one you should apologize to is MJ. She hates scrutiny like this — you should've seen her at her locker this morning," Ned said, crossing his arms. "Really not cool."

"Okay, I get it," Peter complained, thankful that it was time for lunch. "You've been giving me a hard time all day, shouldn't my guy in the chair be, I don't know, more supportive?"

"I'm speaking as MJ's brother right now, if you want to talk to your guy in the chair, why don't you call Karen?"

"Dude, low blow, you know I want you on patrol with me!"

"Not enough to tell MJ you're Spider-Man, even though you obviously like her," Ned accused Peter as he walked beside him. "All of this would be so much easier if you just told her!"

"Okay, okay, I'm working up to it. I've got a whole — wait, did you say that I like MJ? I don't know where…"

"Don't be insulting, Peter, you can't hide anything from me. Not anymore. Just stop overthinking it."

"I guess," Peter said, sitting heavily at their usual spot in the cafeteria. He looked up to where MJ sat, but of course it was empty, and a ping of anxiety shot through him.

Ned seemed to have the same thought, leaning across to Peter. "Honestly, I'm a little worried. I don't know where she is, she texted my dad she left school and 'is fine', but when does she ever talk about what she's really feeling?"

"I should go find her, right?"

"I don't think that's such a good idea. Wait until she texts one of us back — who knows where she went. You can’t search for her all over the city."

"I can," Peter said, slipping the sleeve of his shirt down to reveal the tip of his web-shooter, "as Spider-Man."

There was a loud thump as a bag dropped heavily onto the table, followed by Flash, who sat down next to Peter. "You guys talking about Spider-Man? I still can't believe he's got it for MJ — she wasn't even in the elevator with us in DC, Ned! How did they even meet?"

"Uh, hello, Flash?" Peter greeted tentatively. "Did you get lost on the way to your table?"

"Hey, Penis," he said, blowing a kiss to Peter, "I'm sitting here today to catch up with my buddy Ned and make sure he and MJ come to my party on Saturday night."

"Dude, since when did you care if we went to your parties?"

"Since Ned and I became carpool buddies," Flash explained, taking a fry from his tray and popping it in his mouth. "Don't worry, you're still invited too," he added to Peter, winking.

"Today can't get any weirder," Ned grumbled, shaking his head at Peter.

"What's got Parker's panties in a twist today? Sad because Spider-Man stole your girl before you had the courage to ask her out?"

"Jeez," Peter exhaled, "even Flash knows I have a crush on MJ?"

"You're pretty obvious about it, all you do is pretend to sleep so you can stare at her in class. It would be creepy if she couldn't kick your ass, scrawny," Flash laughed, poking Peter's arm. He stopped and did a double-take.

"Oh shit, PP, are you actually buff?" He poked the solid muscle of Peter's arm again, gesturing for Ned to do the same. "Dude, have you seen this? Parker's been holding out on us!"

Peter slapped his hand away and looked at Ned, who could only shrug. "I'm going to go look for her, see if I can find her okay? I'll let you know."

"Peter, don't leave me here!" Ned protested, his eyes briefly flicking over to Flash. "You're just going to get detention for skipping class and then we'll have to start movie night late again. Come on, dude."

"I have to," Peter said, not caring whether or not he really did. He wanted to, and he needed to make this right. "Call me if you hear anything, okay?"

"Fine," said Ned, "but I'm not happy about it."

It took Peter the better part of two hours to find MJ, and it was only a lucky guess that brought him to her old apartment complex. Well, that and his peace offering: a veggie banh mi from the place three blocks over, half of which he ate in a panic as he rehearsed his apology.

When he finally webbed himself up to the roof and landed in front of her, she only stared at him, as if unsure he was really there for a moment, or perhaps trying to see who was under the mask. After regaining her composure, she exhaled and shook her head. “Two interactions with Spider-Man in less than twenty-four hours? I’m beginning to think you’re following me. You aren’t, are you?”

"No, of course not," Peter spluttered. How was this already going so wrong? He willed his brain to remember everything he'd rehearsed only a few minutes prior, but came up empty. "I'm, uh, Spider-Man, by the way," he said, offering the sandwich bag in greeting.

“Uh huh. What is it?” she asked, taking the bag gingerly. Her uncertainty turned to surprise, and then to delight as she pulled out the rest of the banh mi he’d brought.

“Is this from JoJu?” MJ asked.

“Yeah, I thought you might be hungry. And I wanted to apologize.”

“You’ve got my attention.”

“I’m really, _really_ sorry about everything that’s going on,” Peter started, thankful for the slight voice modification that his suit provided. “It’s all my fault. I wasn’t thinking about what would happen — all the consequences, all the press and the internet going crazy with it. I wish I could take it all back.”

MJ quirked her eyebrow at him, pausing between bites. “So, you don’t think that I looked good in the selfie?”

“What? No, I did, I mean I still do. I just meant that I…”

“Relax,” MJ said, a smile on her lips, “I’m just messing with you.”

“You aren’t mad?”

“I was pissed before — at you, at everyone who made it a big deal, at myself for posting it. I guess I was frustrated and scared, too. But I don’t feel that way now.”

Peter shifted his feet, feeling his heart hammer away in his chest. “What changed?”

“Well, for one, I was starving, and you just brought me a banh mi from my favorite spot. Actually, I didn’t know they did half sandwiches there. I always got the full one and had leftovers.”

“They don’t,” Peter admitted, “I panic ate the first half right before I found you.”

MJ snorted and shook her head, “Wow, cheap date, Spidey. You only get partial credit, then.”

“Hey — it’s not like I’m getting paid over here! And I’d have brought two full sandwiches and two coffees if I knew this was a date.”

“Oh, the espresso with condensed milk? Now I kind of want one,” MJ said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.

“I’ll get you one — if you let me walk you home,” Peter offered, his heart in his throat.

“How do you know I don’t live here?”

“I… um… made a lucky guess?”

“Now I _definitely_ don’t want you taking me to a secondary location,” MJ said, eyes narrowed. “Word on the internet is that Spidey be creepin'.”

Peter felt the heat rise in his cheeks and was glad that he was wearing the mask. “Come on, take that back, that’s not… are you messing with me again? That meme has been killing me all day.”

“Fine, judgment retracted. For now. But I’m still not walking home with you, that will just make all the attention way worse. But there is something you can do to make it up to me, for all the trouble,” MJ said, chewing slightly on her bottom lip, and Peter nodded for her to continue.

“City Harvest contacted me about being an ambassador for their holiday food drive. It’s mostly for school volunteer stuff, but there is a fundraiser on Sunday night. This could be a way to use my fifteen minutes of fame for good. Would you go with me?”

“Me? You want me to go with you?” Peter asked, hoping he didn’t sound desperate.

“There’s a food drive ahead of time, too. I think you could encourage a lot of people to come out and help.”

“Of course! I’d love to go with you, MJ,” Peter said.

Her eyes widened in surprise for a moment, and he hoped that he wasn’t being too forward, but the smile that played at her lips set his nerves at ease.

“Here,” she said, jotting the details down on a scrap of paper from her bag and handing it to him. A warm tingle stole down Peter’s spine as their fingers touched, despite the barrier of his suit, and he wondered if she felt the same.

“It’s a date,” MJ said, and Peter’s heart leapt at her words, though his brain struggled to catch up.

“Sunday at four,” he said finally, holding the paper in his hand, her words turning over and over in his mind. _It’s a date._

“Thanks for doing this, by the way,” MJ said, her voice low. “I know you’ve got big, save New York stuff to do or whatever.”

“That’s what you’re doing, too,” Peter said. “Hey, will you be alright up here? Are there people you can call?”

“Yeah, I’ve got people now. I’ll be alright,” MJ answered, her breath fogging in the air as she spoke. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

“Yeah, Sunday.”

Peter stepped off the roof, sending out a webline as his heart soared along with his body, the cold air refreshing and crisp. _A date with MJ_.

Of course, it was a date as Spider-Man, not as Peter Parker. Did she like Spider-Man more? Was it because he was braver with the mask? More confident? Did she see Peter as a friend but not a romantic possibility?

Would she be disappointed if she knew the truth?

“Congratulations, Peter!” Karen said. “I knew you could do it!”

“Aw, thanks, Karen. You don’t think she just invited me because I’m Spider-Man? To help with the food drive?”

“She asked you to go with her first. If you hadn’t disabled my biometrics analysis, I could tell you with far greater accuracy. Perhaps this may reassure you.”

 _‘Would you go with me?’_ played MJ’s voice on a recording.

“Wait — you recorded that? Karen, we really need to have a talk about your privacy settings.”

“Don’t you mean privacy setting? In the singular? We’ve only established the parameter related to biometric data collection.”

“What?!?”

“I’m only joking, Peter. Would you like me to delete the recording?”

“Actually, could you play it one more time?”

_‘Would you go with me?’_

_Of course_ , thought Peter, _always._


	3. Better Late Than Never

Michelle

Michelle leaned with the train as it rounded a curve, the _clack-clack-clack_ reverberating in her chest as they passed over a rail switch and approached the next station. A group of teens practiced their subway acrobatics routine at the other end of the car, spinning and flipping as they used the handlebars like gymnasts, but even that wasn't enough to distract Ned from his nervous ruminations.

"Are you _sure_ Betty knows that I'm going to be there? And that I, like, want to go with her?" Ned asked, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, she knows,” Michelle said, zipping up her coat as they came to their stop. “She said she was looking forward to it.” Betty also said she was looking forward to watching Michelle and Peter together ‘in their natural environment’, whatever that meant, but Ned didn’t need to know about that.

Michelle _was_ excited to see Peter again. She hadn’t seen him since the day before _The Comment_ , and ever since, she’d stayed home from school, catching up with reading and copying Ned’s lecture notes so she didn’t fall behind her classmates. It kept her away from prying eyes, but it had severely cut into her Peter observation time.

Not that it mattered, Michelle was all but convinced that Peter was Spider-Man at this point. At least ninety percent sure. Their meeting on the rooftop — when he’d brought one of her favorite sandwiches and stammered his way through an apology in typical Peter fashion — was one of her most compelling pieces of evidence yet.

And that was before he'd called her MJ.

The skeptic in her kept trying to find excuses — MJ _was_ her Instagram profile name, and the banh mi shop just _happened_ to be nearby. And plenty of people ordered the vegetarian sandwich. Why else would it be on the menu?

Flimsy arguments considering the mountain of evidence she’d collected.

Despite the voice modulation on Spider-Man’s suit, Michelle was convinced she could catch the subtle tells of Peter’s inflection, or the way he laughed and scratched the back of neck when he was nervous. And _Peter_ knew about the building where she used to live, even if she’d never brought him to the rooftop.

What didn’t seem to fit was Spider-Man’s boldness. He was comfortable around her, flirty even, in a way that Peter didn’t seem capable of. Was it the mask that allowed for that, his identity behind an anonymous veil?

But she was bolder, too. Less afraid to say how she felt, or to go after what she wanted. Maybe the mask gave her confidence, too.

When the subway doors opened, Michelle slipped into the crowd on the platform, already packed with holiday shoppers and tourists as they jostled their way for the stairs.

“Peter said he's coming, right?” Michelle asked, turning to Ned once they’d left the station.

"Yeah, he said he was excited!" Ned answered almost too quickly, and Michelle narrowed her eyes at him. Was there something he wasn’t telling her? Well, besides the obvious.

"I hope that means he won't be late."

"I'll just text and let him know we're almost there," Ned assured her, but his furtive glances at his phone did little to inspire confidence.

It would be just her luck for Peter to get pulled into some Spider-Man mission and miss brunch altogether. Then she’d be left as the third wheel, trying to keep the conversation going between Ned and Betty.

This brunch was supposed to be different. They were supposed to enjoy themselves, helping setup Ned and Betty, and then share their own moment, eyes locked across the table. Then they'd find themselves alone as they walked the snow-lined paths in Washington Square Park, and Peter wouldn't look away or run, and she'd ask him to Winter Formal.

Maybe she hadn't fully considered the implications of the _'What Would Liz Do?'_ motto. After all, hadn’t Liz been left behind?

* * *

When they reached the cafe, Betty was already there, having arrived early to put their name down with the hostess. She’d chosen the spot, a cute Lower East Side eatery that buzzed with activity during brunch service.

"I read on Gothamist that they have the best pancakes in Manhattan," Betty announced once they’d been seated, her eyes fixed pointedly on Peter's empty chair. “I was hoping we could try all of their platters, but we’d need four people for that.”

“I’m sure Peter is just running a little late,” Ned said, unable to meet Michelle’s eye. “We’re only two blocks from the train, he’s probably just underground.”

Betty pursed her lips and turned to Michelle, “Well, which platter should we skip?”

“I was going to get the Tofu Benedict. I’m not really feeling pancakes today,” Michelle said. Thinking about asking Peter to Winter Formal, she wondered if she could eat at all.

If he even showed up.

Beside her, Betty huffed. “Well, this is off to a great start.”

“I like pancakes,” Ned offered, something almost desperate in his voice, and Michelle felt a stab of resentment strike through her.

She wasn’t the only one that Peter was abandoning right now. Is that how life was with Peter? Broken promises and waiting, endless waiting.

Was it wrong that she wanted to be the exception to the rule?

After ten minutes, she still hadn’t heard from Peter, and from the way Ned’s knees kept bouncing, she was sure he hadn’t either.

“You know what? I’m going to go call Peter,” Michelle said, standing up. “Just order for us when the server comes by, okay?”

“Finally,” said Betty, setting her menu down and turning to get the server’s attention, hand already in the air.

Out of Betty's view, Ned mouthed _'don't leave me'_ to Michelle, but she ignored him, offering a smirk in return.

Michelle stepped out into the cold, tapping Peter’s name on her contact list and holding the phone to her ear. She didn't expect him to answer — either he was avoiding her and would continue to do so, or he was in the middle of a Spider-Man mission and couldn't take the call, but she couldn’t help the bubble of hope that had formed in her chest.

She wrapped her arms to ward off the wind, but it was much too cold to stay outside without her coat for longer than a few minutes.

As the phone rang, Michelle thought of Liz’s face when Peter left Homecoming, literally running away from her without a word of explanation.

Was it better that Michelle knew why he wasn’t here, even if he’d never actually told her? Or had Liz learned what Michelle refused to accept — for Peter Parker, his secrets always came first.

Michelle didn’t bother leaving a message when his voicemail began, his cheerful voice stumbling over the prerecorded words in a rush that made her smile, despite the uncertainty she felt. All the logic in the world didn’t matter when even this little reminder of him made her feel giddy with hope.

She hit the call button again, and after the second ring, two police cars swerved around the corner with their sirens blaring. They skidded to a stop at the intersection and the officers took defensive positions behind the squad cars, drawing their weapons.

_What the…?_

Michelle hung up, fingers shaking as she tapped to her camera and held her phone up to record. A massive roar echoed from down the block, and she watched in horror as a man in some sort of metal suit charged at the officers, bullets ricocheting off his armor.

He picked up speed and rammed into the first car, sending it flipping in a deadly arc that narrowly missed the fleeing cops and smashed into a street sign. The whole thing collapsed and Michelle froze in panic as the wreckage fell toward her, metal grinding in an awful screech.

A blur of color zipped past Michelle as webbing blanketed the air and caught the falling debris. Spider-Man landed on the street mere feet from her, his body straining as he spun and swung the wreckage in a vicious arc. The impact felt like it shook the ground, sending his attacker — Rhino, she guessed — sprawling.

After a moment, Rhino was back on his feet and charging after Spider-Man, this time brought short by a wall of webbing.

Spider-Man followed his attack with swift kicks and punches that brought Rhino down to his knees. He was methodical and relentless, and it only took another minute before Rhino was motionless and webbed to the street.

"Can one of you guys call animal control?" Spider-Man shouted to the cops. "And tell them to bring extra sedatives, he's a big one!"

He hopped over Rhino's immobilized form and approached Michelle. She realized she was still recording and quickly stopped the video before shoving her phone into her pocket.

"Are you alright, Miss? I thought that car…" Spider-Man began, stopping when she lifted her face to him. "MJ… it's you."

"It's me," she confirmed, the reality of what she'd just experienced finally settling in.

Her knees felt weak and she realized how cold it was, and in a moment, her whole body was shivering. She wrapped her arms across her chest and tried to still herself, but the biting wind and the shock were more than a match for her willpower.

"Are you okay — are you hurt? You're shaking."

"Just cold," she managed, her teeth chattering as she spoke.

Spider-Man stepped toward her, holding his arms out as if to hug her. "I can help with that. My suit has a warmer built in. If you're okay with that, I mean."

Michelle nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and stepped forward into his arms.

"Karen, can you switch to external vents?"

Heat radiated from his suit, but inside, Michelle was already burning. She could feel the ripple of his back muscles under her fingers as she held him, and her heart hammered so loudly that she was certain he could hear it.

"Wait — did you just call your suit 'Karen'?"

"Oh, she's the suit's operating system," he said, still holding her close. "Is this any better?"

“Mmm,” was all she could manage, sinking into his embrace, and she swore she could feel his heart beating, too.

The suit worked too fast for her liking, and soon she was overheating in his arms. Michelle sighed when they stepped apart, his hand lingering for a moment before falling back to his side.

She wanted to confront him right now, but she didn't know where to begin or what to say.

"I can't believe that car almost crushed me," she finally said, staring at the broken concrete only a dozen feet away. "And all because I was trying to call my date."

"Date?" Spider-Man asked, and Michelle swore she could hear excitement in his voice.

"Well, it would have been a date — if he'd showed up."

He scratched at the back of his neck. "Well, Rhino's attack probably caused some serious delays. I know from, uh, personal experience that a few minutes late can turn into a lot longer when villains get involved. Definitely Rhino's fault here."

“Wouldn't my date be your competition? Why are you defending him?” she teased, watching as the lenses of his eyes went wide. “He didn’t even call or text to say he was running late.”

“Maybe he’s stuck in the subway without a signal? I can’t imagine someone willingly skipping a date with you,” he said, stepping back as if to swing away.

But Michelle didn’t want the moment to end. Even if he was only swinging away to change out of his suit, she didn't want a windswept Peter showing up forty minutes late with some terrible, transparent excuse on his lips.

“Wait,” Michelle said, reaching forward and grabbing his wrist. His lenses widened in surprise, but she pushed forward, unwilling to miss her opportunity. “Will you be my lunch date instead?”

“I… uh…”

“I’m buying, since you just saved my life.”

“Yeah, okay. I’d really like that. Do you want to get your coat?” he asked, pointing to the cafe window behind her.

Michelle turned to see Betty’s face pressed against the glass, Michelle’s coat clutched to her chest. She made an excited squeal and pushed through the door, nearly throwing the coat into Michelle’s arms.

“Are you about to swing off together?” she asked, eyes wide with delight. "This is so cute, I can't believe it!"

“Betty, our pancake platter is ready!” Ned called as he leaned out the door behind her. His gaze flitted to Spider-Man, and Michelle could sense how much he wanted to say something. “Hi, uh, Spider-Man. Thank you again for saving me in Washington.”

“Oh my god, I forgot you knew Spider-Man!” Betty said, resting her hand on Ned’s shoulder. "That is so cool."

His eyes drifted to her hand and he nodded eagerly. “Oh, yeah, definitely. It’s getting kind of cold out here, though. Want to head inside and get some cocoa?”

“You read my mind,” Betty said. After a final wave to Michelle, she slipped back into the cafe.

Michelle pulled her coat on and watched them walk back to the table together, hand in hand. Perhaps her work here was done, after all.

“Ready?” asked Spider-Man, holding out his arms. “I know just the place.”

And with a _thwip_ and burst of cold air they were soaring through the city, and Michelle almost forgot to scream.

Almost.

* * *

Ten minutes later, they were huddled in a hidden nook on a rooftop near Stuy Town, out of the sharp wind that whistled past and whispered of a storm to come.

Michelle took off her gloves and stuffed them in her pockets, flexing her fingers as she opened the bag that Spider-Man had just handed her. Despite her insistence, he’d bought lunch, claiming the grilled cheese was the other half of his apology sandwich.

“If the sandwich is the rest of your apology, what’s the tomato soup?”

“Interest?”

“Touche,” she laughed, relishing in the warmth that spread to her fingers as she held the small container of soup. “So, how did you know I was a vegetarian? The banh mi was vegetarian, too.”

“Was it? Oh, well, maybe I’m a vegetarian?” he tried unconvincingly. “And, I mean, who _doesn’t_ like grilled cheese and tomato soup?”

“What if I’m lactose intolerant?” she asked, enjoying watching him squirm.

“Then you can have both soups, and I’ll eat the sandwiches.” He held out his own container as an offering.

“And if I don’t like tomatoes?”

“What? There are people who don’t like tomatoes?” he gasped, pretending to stumble backwards in shock. “Now I know you’re just messing with me.”

Michelle laughed and dipped her own sandwich in her soup, sighing audibly once she took a bite. "This is so good. I haven't had a grilled cheese since my favorite food truck stopped parking by my school."

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, unwrapping his sandwich before he slipped his thumb under the seam of his mask, as if to pull it up. But he froze when he turned to Michelle.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, trying not to spook him.

“Um… would you mind if maybe we didn’t face each other?”

“What? Like we both look out at the street?”

“Or maybe we sit back to back?” Spider-Man offered. “But you’ll still hear my voice without the distortion… this was a bad idea.”

“Is there a reason you need to disguise your voice?”

She could almost sense the tension rolling off his body as his eyes jumped to meet hers. “Just as a precaution? For, um, everyone’s safety.”

Either that, or she could recognize his voice — as she'd expected all along.

Her heart hammered in her chest, and Michelle could feel the truth within reach. “It’s okay, you can be open with me. I mean, if you want to be. I’d never tell your secrets.”

“I know you wouldn’t — I mean, I trust you,” he corrected quickly, though Michelle could hear the reservations that lingered in the silence.

“But?”

“But," he confirmed, and Michelle could almost imagine a rueful grin on Peter's face, "this is all new for me. A few people know, but I’ve never really told anyone on purpose. I just…” Spider-Man sighed, cradling his head in his hands. "I'm still learning to let people in, I guess."

Michelle could understand that.

“Back to back, then?” she offered, turning to face away.

“Yeah, okay,” and then, after a moment, "thank you."

It was a little thing, but the way Spider-Man's — no, _Peter's_ — broad back felt against her own sent something curling into the pit of her stomach. Something not altogether different from hunger, and she leaned into it.

No more worrying or analyzing, no more fear.

“Are you really going to come tomorrow? There’s going to be a food drive and a block party — I think a lot of people would come if they knew you'd be there."

"For City Harvest, right? I promised I would."

"It's just going to be food trucks and music, and people huddled around the heat lamps," she said in a rush of words. "No fancy Stark gala."

“ _Not a gala_?” he asked, pretending to be offended. “And I’d just picked up my formal Spidey suit from the dry cleaners, too! I’ve been misled.”

“You can still wear a bowtie. No one’s stopping you.”

“How about a cummerbund?”

“Absolutely not. They have to draw the line somewhere.”

Michelle felt his body move as he laughed against her, and she was grateful he couldn’t see the heat that rose in her cheeks.

Without his mask in front of her, she could pretend for a moment that the secret was gone, too. And when she closed her eyes, she could almost believe that they were sitting in the dark of Ned’s room, watching some ridiculous movie that Peter or Ned swore was a masterpiece, and not on some rooftop with Spider-Man.

That was what she ached for — Peter, without the pretenses and secrets, without the lies and the waiting and the worrying. She knew _that_ Peter was still there, beneath it all.

And tonight, at Flash’s party, she would ask him to Winter Formal.

* * *

Peter

Peter stared at his phone, cringing at the uninterrupted string of texts that he’d sent after leaving MJ at lunch. He didn’t want to make excuses or lie, so he’d been careful with his wording, apologizing for not making it to brunch at the cafe and blaming Rhino for messing everything up without elaborating how.

It felt like a lie of omission — probably because it _was_ — and based on the single text that MJ had sent back, so did she.

_If you want to apologize, do it in person. Flash’s party, tonight._

He had a hard time reading the tone, but he was pretty sure it was at least a little angry, though she wanted to see him. That had to mean something, right?

As bad as he felt about ditching MJ at brunch, he couldn’t kick the feeling that his date as Spider-Man had gone _really well_. He’d almost told her his secret right then and there, but he knew the same burning question would haunt him: would she be with him because he was Peter, or because he was Spider-Man?

“Are you doing alright, Peter?” May asked, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “If you’d rather head home…”

“No, I’m alright. I’m excited,” Peter said, the enthusiasm in his voice forced and hollow. They were parked in front of Flash’s family home, watching as party-goers walked past the manicured lawn and headed inside. Each time the door opened, Peter could hear the bass filter outside, the deep rumble audible over the rattling of May’s old Volvo.

May sighed and fixed him with a worried look. “Just try to relax and be a regular kid tonight. Don’t think about Spider-Man or that Rhino guy, okay?”

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t even bring the suit tonight, I promise.”

She eyed the cuffs of his sleeves warily but didn’t reach out to check. “Alright, have fun. And don’t be afraid to let loose and try new things.”

“Are you encouraging me to have a wild party night?” Peter laughed. “Shouldn’t you be telling me to be safe? Or are you trying to live vicariously through me?”

May took off her glasses and pointed to her face, “This is me rolling my eyes right now, buster. Now go enjoy yourself and stop worrying.”

“I will — I am. And I’m not worrying, May.”

“You were fidgeting the entire ride over, Mr. Anxious — is this about Michelle? Are you going to ask her to Winter Formal tonight? I know you can do it.”

The excitement was evident in his aunt’s face, but Peter thought of the text and wasn’t so sure. “I want to ask her, if I get a chance. I just hope she doesn’t hate me for missing brunch.”

“But you told me that it went so well!”

“As _Spider-Man_.”

“Hey,” May said, looking him in the eye. “I know it’s scary, but it’s okay to trust people. Have you thought about telling her your secret? I think Ned would agree with me that…” she began, but Peter waved it away.

“I know, I know, I can’t do this all alone — but that’s why I’ve got you two.” He sighed, and May reached over to brush the hair from his forehead. “I want to tell MJ, I just…” he shrugged, leaning back in the seat, “I don’t know. It’s hard.”

“Most things worth doing are hard,” May answered. “You’ll know when it’s the right moment — just trust your Peter tingle. And call me if you need me to come and get you, alright?”

Peter waved goodbye and shut the car door, turning to head into the party. May was right about his nerves; he’d stressed about what to tell MJ the whole ride over and well before that. He didn’t want to lie to her; maybe he _should_ just tell her about Spider-Man.

But Flash’s party wasn’t the right place to do it — he wanted it to be special. Should he have thought of a special way to ask her to Winter Formal, too? Tony would have laughed at him for thinking it, but being a teenager was so much harder than being an Avenger.

Peter took a deep breath and stepped into Flash’s house, the music hitting his heightened senses like a gale force wind. After a moment, he recovered from the sensory overload, and everything became a little more manageable.

He could do this.

Peter tossed his coat onto the pile that overflowed from the coat racks, standing on his tiptoes to look for Ned and MJ. The party was crowded, and less than half the faces were ones he recognized from Midtown. Was Flash actually popular outside of school?

“Give it up for Penis Parker!” shouted Flash, carrying two red solo cups. He handed one to Peter before slapping him on the back. “Glad you made it, I hope you didn’t have to cash in your college fund for the taxi.”

“I didn’t take a taxi.”

“You walked? Dude, no wonder you’re secretly jacked. I think I just bruised my hand.”

“Not my fault your hands are soft,” Peter joked, though secretly he was a little worried that Flash was noticing Spider-Man details. Hadn’t Karen said he was the most likely person to leak Peter’s identity?

“Thanks for noticing, dude,” Flash said, looking at his palms. “No manual labor, and I always moisturize. It gets so dry in winter.”

Peter swirled the drink that Flash had handed him, a little unsettled by the color. “What is this? It smells like — vinegar?”

“It’s kombucha. It’s brewed extra long, so it’s actually 3.5% alcohol,” he said, raising his eyebrows, though Peter was pretty sure that was still less than a beer. Not that he’d had any of those either.

"Is MJ here yet?" Peter asked, but Flash held up his hand.

"Hold that thought, I don't want to miss this transition. If you can’t tell, I’m the DJ," he said, turning on the spot and leaving Peter in the hallway.

He eventually found Ned huddled over a side table with Betty, each trying to suppress their laughter.

"How far back do you think these private photo shoots go? That entire shelf can't be all Flash, can it?" Ned asked, eagerly turning the pages of a photo album.

"Only one way to find out, babe," Betty answered, smiling. She turned and saw Peter, her expression immediately transforming into a look of disdain.

"Nice of you to show up this time, Peter. I guess Flash's party was more important than brunch with MJ."

"I'm sorry, they shut down all the subways after that Rhino guy attacked, so I got stuck underground without service," Peter explained, watching as Ned's gaze darted between them. "I really wanted to be there, Betty."

"It's a good thing I'm not the one you need to convince, because I’m not buying it," Betty said, arms crossed. "Don't think I forgot about what you did to Liz — and I know MJ hasn't either."

"I know, I just want to apologize to her. Have you seen her around?"

"Check the kitchen, I think I saw her making a grilled cheese sandwich earlier," Ned answered, giving Peter a significant look.

"She's probably just reliving her date earlier today after you no-showed and Spider-Man saved her from being crushed by a car. _And then bought her lunch_ ," Betty said, shooing Peter from the room. "Now make it a good apology — and never do that to her again!"

Peter found MJ in the kitchen, her back pressed against a wall with a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches separating her from Brad Davis. He was leaning over her with his hand resting on the wall behind her head, blocking her into a corner. Creep.

Brad laughed at something MJ said, the sound loud and grating in Peter's ears, and he was about to approach when something he heard stopped him.

“I’m not dating Spider-Man, how many times do I have to say it?” Michelle said, an edge to her voice that Brad didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe just ignored. Peter wanted to punch his stupid face.

“What about this photo the Bugle posted? That’s you with Spidey, isn’t it?” Brad countered, pushing his phone in her direction. “You don’t look like strangers to me.”

Michelle snatched the phone from Brad and stared at it, opening and closing her mouth a few times before she could respond. “I just, I was cold, okay? I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t seeing anyone,” Brad said, taking the phone back.

Peter took that as his cue to interrupt and approached. "Hey, MJ, I was wondering if we could talk for a second?"

Michelle nodded and stepped away from Brad, offering Peter a grilled cheese. “Was wondering if you were going to show up. Glad you’re here.”

“Parker, have you seen this?” Brad asked, stepping up to Peter and showing him his phone.

The image was zoomed in and a little cropped, but there was no mistaking it was MJ in the picture as she held tightly onto Spider-Man, the aftermath of his fight with Rhino in the background.

“Well?” Brad asked.

Peter took a bite of the grilled cheese to keep himself from saying anything stupid. “Mmm,” he said, as noncommittally as he could. Then to MJ, he added, “So good,” and pointed to the sandwich.

“Thanks. It’s never too soon for another grilled cheese,” MJ said, taking a bite of her own as she met his eyes.

Alarms blared inside Peter’s head as his Spider-sense went haywire. Was she testing him? The image of Admiral Ackbar popped into his mind, shouting _‘It’s a trap!’_ , and he gulped, trying to swallow the hastily chewed bite in his mouth.

But it caught in his throat for a moment, and Peter coughed and nearly choked. He raised his kombucha to take a drink, but sensed Brad about to smack his back, knowing how the next moment would play out with dreadful certainty.

As Brad clapped him on the back, Peter’s drink splashed into face — and all over MJ’s shirt. He spluttered and wiped at his eyes, knowing he could have stopped it with his reflexes, but not without exposing himself as Spider-Man.

"Woah, easy, Parker. Don't be such a klutz," Brad said, stepping back and away from Peter's spilled drink. "You just ruined MJ's shirt, man."

Peter glared at him, accidentally crumpling the plastic cup in his fist, when beside him MJ made a frustrated sound. "Yeah, thanks a lot, Peter."

"But I… I didn't… I wasn't…" he stammered, looking at MJ in dismay. Finally, he sighed, "I'm sorry, MJ. I'll go see if Flash has anything to mop this up."

Before he could move, MJ reached out and grabbed his wrist. "Not before you make this right. Follow me."

* * *

MJ led him upstairs, effortlessly parting the crowd as she went. At least that was how it felt, swept along in her wake. He followed her into the bathroom, closing the door behind him at her direction.

Peter was pretty sure the bathroom was bigger than his bedroom and decked ceiling to floor in marble, but it still felt intimate, the sounds of the party muffled behind the door. Peter's hands were sweaty and his pulse raced, but he swore he could hear the rapid beating of Michelle's heart above his own.

_Was she nervous, too?_

"I'm really sorry about your shirt. And for missing brunch. And for not texting or calling ahead of time."

"It's okay, dork," Michelle said, rinsing her hands in the sink. "You missed a lot at brunch. Ned and Betty really hit it off — you should've seen them after the attack."

"Yeah, I just saw them looking at Flash's old photo albums in the library, and I’m pretty sure Betty called Ned babe. So they’re a thing now?"

“Looks like it.” There was something in MJ’s eyes that made Peter's insides squirm. He thought of his flimsy excuses for missing brunch but said nothing. He was tired of lying to MJ.

She held her shirt out, inspecting the stain with a critical eye. "I think I can get this out before it sets," she said, undoing her top button.

Peter met her eyes in the mirror, and Michelle froze, seemingly realizing that he was still there. “Can you face the other way?” she asked, hesitating. “Maybe back to back?"

He spun on the spot and stared at the tiled wall of the shower. His mind was racing, and not just with the fact that _Michelle Jones_ was alone in a bathroom with him and unbuttoning her shirt.

She had said _back to back._

Was she referencing their lunch date? Did she know his secret, or was he just being paranoid?

Behind him, MJ washed her shirt, and it took all of Peter's willpower to keep his eyes glued to the opposite wall. Well, that and the breathing exercises that Karen had been practicing with him.

 _Breathe, Peter, just relax,_ he told himself, fists clenched at his sides.

"Everything alright? You're quiet."

"Yeah, um, everything is great? How are you?" Peter stammered, wishing he could shove his fist in his mouth to shut himself up.

MJ sighed. "I think I need detergent to get this out. Of course, now my shirt is soaked through, so I’ve got that going for me," she deadpanned.

"Are there any towels under the sink?"

"Maybe there's… aha! A blow dryer!"

After a moment, the blow dryer kicked to life, the sound overwhelming in the closed room.

Peter stood still and tried to ignore it, focusing on what he'd say when she finished. Should he ask her to Winter Formal? He'd already put it off longer than he should have, but with all of his Spider-Man mistakes, the whole situation felt murkier than ever.

But they were alone, and she didn’t seem mad, despite, well, everything. Maybe now was the best chance he would get.

“You can borrow my sweater, if you’d like,” he offered once the room had returned to silence. “It's clean and dry."

Michelle was silent for a moment, and Peter was worried that he'd overstepped.

"I'd like that."

He hurriedly pulled the sweater off, checking to make sure it didn't stink. It smelled fresh, like May's fabric softener, and he felt a surge of gratitude toward his aunt. He’d have to thank her when he got home. And for her encouragement earlier.

 _You’ll know when it’s the right moment,_ May had said, and he swore he could feel it, the tension in the room a thick and heady thing.

"Hey, MJ, I was wondering..." he began.

"Peter, do you think…" she said at the same time.

They both laughed, and Peter took a deep breath to calm himself. "Sorry, you go first."

"I wanted to know if you would…" she began, her voice wavering slightly around the edges, but the door swung open and Flash burst into the bathroom.

"Guys — my parents are on their way home early! We need to clean this place _now_ or I'm screwed!"

"You didn't lock the door?" Michelle asked, her tone bordering on dangerous.

"I didn't know that I needed to!" Peter said, shoving his sweater into her hands. He tried not to stare at the smooth expanse of her skin, glancing away after a moment. She'd trusted him, after all, and he'd screwed it up again.

“Jeez, Michelle, put your shirt back on and save it for Spider-Man,” Flash said, grabbing Peter’s arm. “Come on, Parker, what part of _now_ did you not understand?”

* * *

Downstairs, most of the party-goers had already left, or were on their way out as they tried to dig through the pile of coats by the door. No one seemed to be helping clean up, other than Ned and Betty, who were stacking discarded Solo cups from the dance floor.

“Is everyone just leaving? Aren’t they going to help?” Peter asked.

Flash snorted and shook his head. “Why would they? Don’t be an idiot, Parker. The only person you can really count on is yourself.”

“I don’t think that’s really true,” Peter started, but Flash ignored him.

“Oh man, my parents are going to lose it.” He put his head in his hands. “What am I going to do? I can’t clean all this in time!”

Peter sighed. It wasn’t like May could pick him up for a while, anyway. “We’ll just clean up the worst parts first, and maybe it won’t be so bad? We can start in the living room.”

“That’s actually the drawing room,” Flash corrected. “What are you, a farmer?”

Still, he followed Peter into the _drawing room_ , where most of the surfaces were covered with wine glasses and discarded bottles, and even a lone, half-eaten grilled cheese without a plate.

“Oh man, they used my dad’s favorite wine glasses! Those are only for display!” shouted Flash, panicking as he snatched them off the tables and cradled them in his arms.

"Why would you display wine glasses? Aren't they just for drinking wine?" Peter wondered why he bothered asking.

"Only with his clients, not everyday use! And look at that!" Flash added, gesturing wildly at the floor. "Do you see that stain? It’s over for me."

"Do you have any stain remover? Or white vinegar and dish soap?"

"What do I look like, a maid? I don't know where the help keeps that stuff."

Peter shook his head and sighed, gathering as many glasses as he could carry, "Come on, let's get these to the kitchen and take a look, I'm sure we can find something."

Michelle had rejoined Ned and Betty downstairs and was helping load the dishwasher. The sleeves of Peter’s sweater pulled up over her elbows as she worked. She reached back and twisted her hair into a lazy ponytail, and Peter’s heart almost stopped at the thought of her curled up beside him, wrapped in his baggy sweater, her hand in his.

“No, that’s all wrong,” Flash said, pushing past him. “MJ, the everyday dishware goes in that dishwasher, this one is for the china.”

“Are you serious?” Betty shouted back. “Do you want us to help or not?”

“Not if you’re going to do it wrong. This one uses only filtered water, my mom doesn’t like the residue that heavy water leaves.”

Behind him, Peter could hear car brakes as someone pulled into the driveway. The car sounded expensive — definitely too quiet for Aunt May’s. Maybe Betty’s dad drove a nice car?

He scanned the kitchen quickly, realizing they’d hardly made a dent in the mess. Flash _was_ screwed.

“Eugene, we’re home!” called a voice from near the front door.

“Shit,” Flash said under his breath, meeting Peter’s eye. “I guess it’s time to face the music.”

They trailed Flash back into the main hall, unsure if they should hide or try to cover everything up.

“Mother, father, I can explain,” Flash said as his parents stared at the drawing room. “I thought you’d be gone until Monday, so I threw a party.”

“It doesn’t look like many people showed up,” said his mom, waving briefly at the group of them, as if they’d been dismissed.

“There were more, but they left,” Flash explained.

“I’m sure they did, honey,” said his mom. “Well, we’re glad you tried, we know how hard making friends is for you. Your therapist tells us all the time.”

“They tell you that?” Flash asked, his voice quiet.

“Well, we pay the bills, don’t we?” his dad laughed, turning to head to the stairs. “Get the maid to clear all of this tomorrow, Eugene.”

“Father — I think someone opened that 2011 that you bought when we went to Argentina together. Maybe you’d like to try it?”

“You can dump it out. Their head winemaker died that year and his imbecile son ruined the whole vintage. It’s worthless.” He paused for a moment, as if to say more, but shook his head and left.

“We hope you had fun, dear,” said his mom, giving him a tight smile and following her husband upstairs. “Don’t stay up too late now, you have your therapy session in the morning.”

Flash didn’t meet Peter’s eyes as he turned and walked back to the kitchen, tilting a wine bottle over the sink so it splashed noisily down the drain, the words he’d said still echoing in Peter’s head.

_‘The only person you can really count on is yourself.’_

Maybe it was hearing someone else say it, or maybe the lesson that Ned and May, and even Karen, had been trying to teach him had finally sunk into his thick skull, but Peter knew that Flash was wrong.

And he knew that wasn't how he wanted to live.


End file.
